


it's hard to be you and carry on being

by WhisperOfTheDay



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Blood, Deaths, Fallout Earth AU, Flashbacks, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Regret, Stream of Consciousness, Synth Stan, and a hell lot of self-hatred, portal ford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 05:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11891031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperOfTheDay/pseuds/WhisperOfTheDay
Summary: Ford suffers the consequences of an injury infection





	it's hard to be you and carry on being

**Author's Note:**

> A little draft. Happens in FEAU Juliet and I created (http://julientel.tumblr.com/post/163018063821), which you don't really have to know much about to get the Portal Ford Feels.
> 
> Enjoy the pain.

Ford and Stan travel the soulless wastelands. The synth walks ahead, showing the way. The scenery is quite breathtaking, he might even want to sketch it, though there are more pressing matters at hand. Ford feels an alarming sense of deja vu creeping up his body: the view surrounding him, the words he is about to say, the emptiness in his stomach (and in his mind). He tells himself to push this nonsense on the back of his head. He swallows, though his throat stays dry all the same, and says in a tired and low voice, "Provision is running out. We need to restock in the nearest settlement."  
"You need to restock."  
"...come again?"  
"I don't need to eat or sleep or do any of those dumb things you constantly waste time on."  
"Wh- I don't fully comprehend-"  
"You are so soft and pithless."  
"I- What's gotten into you?!" He watches the synth's back with utter shock when its voice rises in pitch and volume, sending cold shivers down his spine and freezing his brain.   
"You are a weak, spineless piece of meat. I don't intend to carry you on my back any more."  
Ford is too terrified and confused to notice the scene around him change completely.   
  
He stands in a small kitchen, a gun in his left hand, the right one is set in cast, and a humanoid woman- his friend, the kindnest soul who has been giving him shelter and food and love for so long- is standing on her knees a few steps in front of him. He has a gun drawn right on the center of her forehead. He jerks his wrist aside in horror. She grabs his hand with all four of hers. She asks him to kill her. Because she knows too much and can't let them get to her. She says she forgives him and her children will understand in due time. And she beggs him to do it. And he does.   
  
A shot interrupts them gloating in a language he can't understand, blood sprays in his face, then he's throwing punches, breaking free, and running, running, runningrunningrunning until he can breathe in no more, until they throw something at his legs, making him fall, making him surrender, making him a slave, working non-stop untill the world goes black. He shamefully finds himself wishing that it stays that way.   
  
A bang rings in his ears again, then another then another, pain explodes in his midsection, screams of agony pierce his brain, then a few more shots. His eyes snap open. He is standing in the middle of a clearing, laser guns in both hands, knuckles torn, blood in his mouth and dripping from his nose and there are 7 corpses lying on the ground all around him. All the lifeless faces and blood bloodblood so much blood oh god making him sick making him want to peel his skin off every time every single time. And the inhuman and- oh so familiar- laughing and mocking and screaming all mix together and grow louder and it's unbearable and he drops his weapons and they scatter on the metallic floor of the spaceship near the two pilots' bodies and he covers his ears and it never stops never ends and he shoots up in bed.

His throat hurts, his head hurts, his eyes and ears hurt, his lungs hurt, his heart hurts the most. He gets up slowly through the stinging in his hip, not fully aware of the reality around him, only knowing- or plainly believing- that he's safe. Swaying, he walks up to a gap in the half-fallen wall and lets a shaking arm rest on a red dusty brick, leaning his body on it. His other hand runs through his brown but greying hair, then drops to his side. His head hangs listlessly. He tries to remember what the Oracle taught him. _Take deep breaths_ but they come out shallow and broken. _Imagine your mindscape a peaceful and calm sea_ but he is underneath and the weight is of it is too much

* * *

  
  
The synth watches silently as the man allows himself a moment of weakness, slowly sinking to his knees and covering his face with both hands, shoulders shaking. He may not even acknowledge the presence of another person and Stan has no intent to make himself known. He just casts his eyes downward, sitting back on the cinder block in front of a campfire on the right to his companion's makeshift sleeping bag. A long sign leaves him as the cool night's air ruffles his artificial hair.  
  
Quiet sobs echo through the room.


End file.
